A Bend in the Stream
by greysw
Summary: After the end, the Cylons find that their lives are just beginning. A remix of lls mutant's "Softly Tread the Sand Below Your Feet".


Beta Thanks: Thanks to rose_griffes on LJ, for all the help!

Author Notes: This is a remix of Softly Tread the Sand Below Your Feet, by lls_mutant on LJ. Please check out the original fic!

---

"Nine in the second place means:  
Bearing with the uncultured in gentleness,  
Fording the river with resolution,  
Not neglecting what is distant,  
Not regarding one's companions:  
Thus one may manage to walk in the middle." - _I Ching, T'ai / Peace Hexagram, Richard Wilhelm translation._

---

The first day of Two's new life on Earth was a long one. By the time the sun had moved halfway across the sky, the neat file they'd been walking in had worn down into a ragged, broken line of straggling humans, a line which stretched back further than Two could see. It was tiring, but he and his siblings marched with a relatively quick pace, staying close to the front of the line where the people from Galactica were.

"Are you sure they're friendly?" Eight asked quietly, glancing at a rather large Marine who was a bit further ahead of them.

"Sonja said so," Two said with a shrug. "She said we should stick with the Galactica crew. I guess they're used to the Cylon."

"I worked on their ship for a while," Lyda said. She was the only one among their group who'd taken a name, perhaps _because_ she'd worked with the humans. "They're not so bad." She smiled ruefully. "Just remember, they're more afraid of you than you are of them."

Another Six snorted. "That's what Four always said about snakes!"

Lyda smiled. "Well, I never knew a Four who died of snakebite, did you?"

"I'm still worried," Eight muttered, watching as two humans approached from the rear, then abruptly dropped back again once they saw who their company was. "I'm not sure I like this."

Two nodded. _I'm not sure I like this_ expressed his feelings very well. He was eager for this new start, but being one of just nine Cylons among more than two hundred humans was frightening nonetheless. His people had hurt the humans, often terribly; he couldn't blame them if they took the opportunity to get some payback.

"Just keep walking," Lyda said confidently. Two noticed she moved up closer to the people from Galactica, though, so he followed suit.

---

By the time somebody finally called a halt, Two was much too tired to care about the humans. They'd been walking nearly six hours, with a few breaks here and there, and had finally reached a little clearing near a river, close to the edge of the treeline.

Their new home. It was a strange thought. The Basestar had always been home to Two. The sound of the river was the only thing that seemed at all familiar; it made a trickling, flowing sound much like a datafont, and gave him a small measure of comfort as he and his siblings made camp.

"What should we do now?" the second Eight asked a while later, poking at her plate of warmed algae. "Shouldn't we try to make friends?"

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Lyda said. "Maybe we should leave it for a while."

Two looked around, frowning. The humans were gathering, getting to know each other around their campfires, but there was no place for him there. None of the humans seemed willing to make eye contact with him... except for a few who made a point to stare, an even less welcoming gesture. He looked away.

"Let's just put the tents up," said the more timid of the Eights. "Things'll look better in the morning, won't they?"

The humans had given the Cylons two tents; they put them up together, tying the flaps so that they formed a good-sized room to sleep in. Nobody wanted to sleep alone, so they curled up inside, nestled together for comfort.

"Shouldn't we set a watch?" asked one of the Sixes, glancing toward the tent flap.

"Why bother?" Two's brother said. "There are nine of us and hundreds of them. If they really want to hurt us, there's nothing we can do to stop them. Just try to get some sleep."

Two lay in the dark for some time, snuggled warmly between an Eight and two Sixes, listening to the sound of his siblings' breathing as they dropped off to sleep. It was the first time he had ever slept without checking the datastream. He was alone, cut off from his brothers, and it made him feel very lonely and small. Now he had just two brothers left, and Two fought a sudden desire to see them, to make sure they were still there.

_Of course they are_, Two thought, _they're right over by Lyda_. The thought persisted regardless, and it was still drifting in and out of Two's mind when he finally fell asleep.

---

That night, he dreamed of the control center on his Basestar. His brothers were calling to him -- _all_ of his brothers, Ones and Twos and Fours and Fives, both living and dead. They sang to him from the depths of the datafont, but no matter how he reached for them, he could never quite touch the surface of the water.

---

The next morning was better. It was wonderfully bright, and the early morning fires lent their little camp a spicy scent of woodsmoke and sizzling algae. The Cylons built a fire of their own in front of their new tent, and then perched on rocks and stumps as they ate their breakfast.

_It's a long way from having a Centurion bring fruit and wine_, Two thought, breaking his algae loaf into neat cubes with his fork. _Still, I think I like it_.

He saw the same thought on the faces of his brothers and sisters; they were smiling, just a little, for the first time in a long while.

"What'll we do today?" Six asked as they were tidying up.

"Why don't we split up," Lyda suggested. "Let's see if we can help the humans with anything."

Two nodded, washed his plate in the river, and wandered off through the camp. Humans were working here and there, gathering wood or fetching water from the river, but none of them seemed to welcome his presence, and he didn't push them. Instead, he walked until he found the people from Galactica, who seemed to be working together on a plan of some sort.

Nearby was a small pile of tools and electronics. Two approached it curiously. He'd always been attracted to machines of all sorts, which was why he'd been in communications on the Basestar; after the Five who'd previously run that section had abruptly vacated the position, so to speak, Two had been eager to volunteer.

He began to poke through the pile, turning the items over in his hands. Almost without thinking about it, he began to sort them into different stacks: one for working electronics, one for tools, and one for junk. A hammer, a machete, a portable wireless set...

_This just needs a new battery_, Two thought to himself. _And maybe I can rig an antenna using some of this wire..._

"Hey, you!"

The voice broke into Two's thoughts so abruptly that he nearly dropped the wireless, and had to fumble for it. He turned to see a large human who was carrying a bundle of scrap metal over one shoulder.

"I thought you Cylons were supposed to be coordinated?"

Two blinked. The human hadn't said it unkindly, so he answered, "We are... when we're not daydreaming, that is."

The human nodded. "Well, you better snap out of it, 'cause I guess I'm supposed to give you these." He dropped the scraps beside the pile; by the time they'd hit the ground, Two already had ideas for some of the smaller ones.

"Thanks, uh..."

"It's John. And you're Leoben, right?"

"Er, no, not really. He is -- was -- a different Two. I don't have a name."

John blinked. "Well, what do we call you then?"

"I don't know," Two said reluctantly. "Two, I guess."

"There are, um, two Twos," John said. "What do we call the other one, then?"

"Three, actually. There are three Twos. And we're all just 'Two'."

"Three Twos," John repeated slowly, as though tasting the words. "No offense or anything, but that's crazy. Maybe you guys should think about coming up with some different names for yourselves, so we'll know what to call you."

Two nodded, not sure what to say.

"Tell you what, you can think it over while me and the others are out hunting. Wish us luck!" He grinned, thumped Two on the shoulder in a surprisingly friendly gesture, and jogged off.

Two watched him go, and then knelt down to finish sorting the pile. _A name_, he thought. _What should my name be?_

As he worked, he thought his way through the possibilities. He considered Robert, from the book that Laura Roslin had left on the Basestar. He thought about Lou, which seemed convenient because it sort of sounded like 'two'. He even considered John, Simon, or Aaron, in memory of one of his lost brothers, but that seemed in poor taste somehow... and besides, he'd just met another John.

_Somebody I admire, then_, he thought. _Someone whose name I'd be __**proud**__ to have_.

The list was rather short. There was Natalie, but Two knew enough about human names to see the obvious problem with that one. Taking the same name as one of the Final Five seemed vaguely sacrilegious; he was willing to bet that the camp would be full of young Galens, Sauls, and Sams before much longer, anyway.

Then something occured to him: the voice on the wireless, his counterpart aboard Galactica. A rebel, like him; a scientist, like him. Someone he could truly admire.

_I'd better ask first_, he thought. _This could be tricky_.

---

By the time the sun had set the Cylons had voted on the issue: nine to zero in favor of taking individual names. Some had even decided on theirs, though everything was provisional until they could talk to the human leader. While they were waiting for him, Two's new friend John came by with some meat.

"Here you go, Two," he said to one of the _other _Twos, the one who wanted to be called Joshua. "Did you get that wireless fixed?"

Joshua blinked. "Um..."

"Not yet, huh? Well, good luck with it. Enjoy the meat!"

The Cylons stared blankly at his retreating back.

"How could he possibly get the two of you mixed up? He looks nothing like you," Eight said wonderingly, after John was safely out of earshot. "_You_ have a _beard_. Besides, you're Two and he's _Two_!"

"Well, it is getting kind of dark," Lyda said. "But humans are like that. They can't ever seem to tell us apart. That's why names are so important. Somehow they need them."

"Heads up," one of the Sixes -- Jane, who'd been a Heavy Raider pilot aboard the Basestar -- said. The human leader, Louis Hoshi, was approaching. He had brown hair and a rather kind demeanor, though he seemed a bit nervous. He was with a tall pilot with a long face.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Have a seat," Jane said. Louis sat awkwardly, looking down at the plate of meat he'd brought with him rather than the faces around him. He was obviously a bit discomfited by the Cylons.

"We've been talking," Jane continued, "and we feel that it's absolutely necessary that we take names. Lyda opted for one, but the rest of us never did."

"Sounds like a good idea," Louis said. "Why are you running this by me?"

"You're in charge," said Anna, the timid Eight.

Louis looked up. "No, I'm not."

Anna glanced at her sister, looking for reassurance. Two took that moment to break in. "No, it's not just that. Four of us have chosen names. Joshua, Anna, Jane, and Chris. And of course, as she said, Lyda already chose hers before we made the alliance. But the rest of us..."

"Humans died," said Eight softly. "And they died fighting to bring this world about. We realize our mistakes, and we respect your right to say no. But some of us... we don't want to replace those that were lost. But we'd like to honor them."

Louis's eyes went wide. "You want names of humans." He glanced at his friend, who seemed openly shocked. "Really?"

"If you would accept it."

For a long moment, Louis said nothing, and Two feared that he would deny their request. Then the tall pilot wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling through his tears.

"Kat," he said, pointing to Eight. He turned to a Six. "Anastasia."

Two approached Louis in the meantime, hoping to put in his request before the pilot tried to name him. He put his hand on Louis's arm, very gently. "I especially wanted to ask you, because... well, I knew communications. I was essentially the navigator for our ship. I understand, and I... well, I understand. I wondered if I could take the name Felix."

Louis closed his eyes. "No," he said. "No."

Two smiled sadly. He'd thought this might happen -- the reports he'd seen from Galactica made it clear that Felix Gaeta was a controversial figure. Fortunately, he had a backup plan...

"Very well," he said, grinning. "How about Tom?"

Just as he'd hoped, Louis began to laugh.

---

During the next few weeks, Two -- _Tom_ -- grew more than he had in all his life on the Basestar. There was work to be done from sunup to sundown, and though none of it was particularly difficult, working together with humans was a challenge. Humans were strange; they didn't vote on anything, except very seldomly, and yet they always seemed to find consensus just the same, often without even talking about what ought to be done. Tom wondered how they managed it without a network.

The humans' ways were confusing, and many of them still didn't welcome him when he tried to help with the work. He stuck with John, who was still apt to mistake him for Joshua now and again, but didn't seem to mind working with a Cylon. They stacked stones together, raising walls for the elderly and for families with children; in the evening, Tom went back to the Cylon tent and helped the Eights weave river rushes by the firelight.

It was a life that left plenty of time for thinking, which was both good and bad. One night, while he was sitting by the fire in front of one of the houses he and John were working on, Louis came by.

"You took the name Tom," he said. "After I told you I didn't want you calling yourself Felix. You do know what they did, don't you?"

Tom poured himself a cup of hot water from his kettle, and tossed in some leaves. "Wish we could find something that made a better tea," he said. "Yes, I know exactly who Tom Zarek was. I saw him taken to detention on New Caprica, and I heard what he was killed for."

"He was a mutineer," Louis said.

"Yes," Tom said. "And so am I."

"What do you- oh. Oh, I see. Of course."

"It wasn't an easy decision," Tom said slowly. "Not for any of us. To turn against our brothers... it was a painful break. But it had to be done, and I'm glad we did. This life... it's nothing like we had. It's hard, it's going to be painful, and being disconnected from data, from computers, from the network... it's like cutting off a part of myself. But it was right." He looked up from the fire. "Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta believed in what they died for," he said. "I felt an affinity with that. Now can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You let me take the name of Tom, but you wouldn't let me take Felix. Why not?"

"You don't know?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

"He was my lover," Louis said. "To let you take his name was something I was in no way ready for."

"I see." Tom thought about that for a moment. "It must have been very painful for you when he died."

Louis nodded. "I was talking to Kat today. She mentioned the afterlife."

"And you're looking for answers."

Louis laughed. "I don't expect answers anymore," he said. "I think I have to learn to be content without them. But..."

"Do I think he's waiting for you on the other side? Absolutely," Tom said, thinking of his brothers, of Leoben, and of Natalie. He poured Louis a cup of tea, pressing it gently into his hand.

Louis drank slowly, blowing on the tea to cool it. Finally, he said, "Thanks, Tom. I hope you're right."

---

After Louis left, Tom sat by the fire for a long time, thinking things over. He'd never known Felix Gaeta, other than as a voice over the wireless, but he'd seen the records of the mutiny, and had picked up a few things from Louis' friend Brendan, who'd fought on the other side.

"Gaeta was a nice guy," Brendan had said. "He was all right. Nobody ever thought he'd pull something like that. He was hurt, you know, and he got involved with the wrong crowd..." When Tom had said nothing, John had added, "No offense, but the guy you're named for was kind of an asshole."

"He was a revolutionary," Tom had said. "A leader."

"Adama was a leader. Louis is a leader. Tom Zarek was a frakkin' tyrant."

Tom wasn't sure about that -- one of the Ones had once told him that the difference between a leader and a tyrant was just in the spelling, and One would probably know, having been both -- but he'd seen the records, and he had to admit that there was a difference between Zarek and Gaeta, a difference between the name he'd taken and the one he'd wanted to take.

Gaeta had tried to bring Adama to trial. He'd tried to protect his people, even those on the other side. He'd wanted to do the right thing, though he hadn't agreed with his leaders on what that was. Zarek, though...

Among the records, Tom had seen photographs of the Quorum, pale in death, their bodies splattered with their own blood. The pictures reminded him of the meeting room on the Basestar, after he and his sisters had brought the Centurions' wrath upon One and Four and Five. He remembered exactly what it had felt like to stretch up on his toes and pluck the telencephalic inhibitor from behind the Centurions' necks; he remembered how terrifying it had been to stand and tremble, humbled before their burning eyes, as Natalie told them how they'd been enslaved. Afterward, he'd spent three days helping to flush his murdered brothers out the Basestar's aft airlock, six hundred at a time.

Perhaps this name suited him, after all.

Like his namesake, he couldn't regret any of his decisions, but in the months which followed, he often wished things could have been different. He'd be stirring the fire, or gathering roots, or helping to dig a new latrine, and suddenly it would hit him: _my brothers are dead, and they're never, ever coming back_. It was hard. His heart told him his brothers were supposed to be _here_, here with him always -- Simon would be the camp doctor, Aaron would hunt with the Marines, Cavil would sit by the fire and gripe all day. He could almost _see _them, sometimes, but when he turned to look, they were never there. They were never there, they never would be again, and Tom knew it was partly his fault.

As hard as it was to lose them, though, it was harder to imagine staying. He couldn't think of himself that way, watching passively as his brothers lobotomized the Raiders, hunted the humans, and kidnapped a child. Once he'd seen how ruthless his brothers truly were, he could never have gone back to them. That, too, was part of being family, part of having faith: _this is not all that we are_.

---

The Cylons began to work on a communal home that summer, around the same time that the villagers were putting the finishing touches on Louis Hoshi's house. They'd wanted to wait until all of the humans were housed; rough weather was much less of a problem for Cylons, especially when all nine of them snuggled together under the big hide blanket Alexander had given them... though that was becoming rarer, now, because Kat, Anastasia, and Chris didn't always come back to the tent at night. Even so, they needed a home, someplace where they could be Cylons, and so construction began.

Tom spent his afternoons pounding dirt for the floor, and his evenings sitting by the Cylon fire, or talking with Louis and the other humans. Now that they'd finally settled in, and the long days of summer had arrived, there was less to do once the sun went down. It left Tom plenty of time for thinking, chatting, and re-reading Laura Roslin's book.

One evening, Tom realized it was too dark to read the words anymore, yet he could still hear them in his mind. He'd been with the book so long that he knew it by heart.

_It might make a nice housewarming gift_, he thought. He'd been avoiding Louis for a week, ever since his house had been finished, though he wasn't sure why. He liked Louis very much. He was kind and funny, and he had a gentle way about him that put Tom at ease. Tom had been thinking about him more and more, lately, especially since spring.

_I'll just give him the book, and see what happens_, Tom thought.

The next morning, he came back to the tent after everybody else was awake. Anastasia dragged in a few minutes later; when she smiled at him, he grinned back.

Anastasia moved out not much later, but Tom did not. Whatever he and Louis had, it wasn't like that -- it was informal, unspoken, and wonderful, and it kept him warm and happy that winter.

---

Kat moved out of the communal home in late winter, to live with Tim, a reedy young man who was best known for his experiments with cultivating root vegetables. Two months later, she was pregnant, and every Cylon in the village gathered around to hear the news.

"I don't know what to do," she said miserably, curling one arm protectively over her stomach. "There's no Simon here, not even a human doctor..."

"It's all right," Tom soothed. "Joanne will help. She's had plenty of experience with pregnancy by now."

"Not like this," Kat said. "Not with the Cylon."

Tom and Anastasia exchanged a look. She was right, of course. Cylon pregnancies were always bad. Back when they'd been trying to have children of their own, an early miscarriage had been the best of a truly tragic set of options. Kat knew that better than anyone, because she'd had several miscarriages herself, same as any other Eight.

"This is different," Anastasia said. "It has to be. Hera is half-human, and she's healthy. Maybe there's something in the humans that makes pregnancy viable. Besides... he loves you. I can tell."

Kat rolled her eyes; Tom marveled at her ability to do that and sniffle at the same time, a feature that seemed to be lacking in his own model. "Come on, Anastasia. Love's not magic. That's something the Ones and Fours _were_ right about -- if love were all it took, there'd have been Cylon children years ago."

Tom thought of a Two he'd known on the Basestar, who'd lived with the same Six for ten years off and on (and off and on and off again). He thought of Caprica Six and Baltar, and of Leoben, whose angel had loved him to death. He thought of Boomer, who'd once told him that she loved her Cavil, that he made her feel safe. Then he thought of the years before Farms and Scriptures, when everybody had paired up with everybody else, full of easy, unselfconscious affection.

Tom wasn't sure what all of that meant, though, so he said nothing.

"Maybe you're right," Anastasia finally said. "Maybe love isn't the magic ingredient, so to speak. But whatever it is, you've got it. I believe that, Kat."

"Thanks," Kat sniffled, smiling wanly. "That means a lot."

No one said anything aloud, but in the months that followed, the Cylons came to a silent consensus of their own. At every meal, they each put aside a bit of food for Kat; they helped expand one of the houses for her and Tim, volunteering every hour when they weren't sleeping or working in the village.

As for Tim, he followed Kat everywhere, doting on her so openly that it made everyone smile... all except Kat, who insisted that she could dig her own roots and fetch her own water.

Joanne visited every week, joining Tim, Kat, and the Cylons in the communal home. She felt Kat's stomach, gave her advice on how to deal with pregnancy, and talked with her about how she was feeling.

"I'm sure it'll be a girl," Kat told her. "I've always dreamed of a girl."

Joanne smiled, and patted her swollen belly. "I hope you're right, then. I bet you won't love it any less if it's a boy, though."

"Of course not," Kat said, "but it had_ better_ be a girl, OK?"

"I wish I could tell you one way or the other. I'm really just a glorified wise-woman, like the ones in the Scrolls. Gods, I wish we had a real doctor."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you're here. Besides, your bedside manner's a lot better than a doctor's, anyway!"

Nobody was willing to quibble with that; half the people in the room were used to Cottle, and the other half were used to Simon.

---

By the beginning of the eighth month, the worry in the air was palpable. Hera had been an early birth, so much so that Cottle had had to intervene. Everyone was afraid that Kat's baby might be the same, but there was no way to know for sure. With no incubator and no way of performing a surgical birth, everything had to go smoothly -- if anything was seriously wrong with the baby, it would surely die. The villagers discussed sending a party out to find Ishay or Cottle, but nobody was entirely sure which group they'd gone with, or where that group might have ended up settling. The only thing to do was to wait.

In the meantime, Kat grew quiet and fierce, retreating to the privacy of her home. She didn't want to see anyone most of the time, even Tim, so he and Tom spent their evenings sitting in the dirt outside her door, chatting quietly as they watched over her.

"Is everything all right?" Louis asked, stopping by on his nightly tour of the village.

"She's OK, I think," Tim said ruefully. "Her feet hurt, her back hurts, and she snarls at me every time I try to come close, and then wants to make up again five minutes later. But I guess that's normal, isn't it?"

"Normal enough for an Eight," Tom grinned, "but don't tell them _I_ said so."

Tim gave a wry smile at that; he'd had plenty of time to get used to his sisters-in-law over the last few months. The Eights' description of how he'd gently rebuffed their attempts to "fulfill God's commandment" with him made a fun campfire story, at least in retrospect.

"I just wish it were over already," he said. "Not _over _over, I don't mean it like that," he added quickly, "but you know what I mean, right?"

"Yes, we certainly do," Louis said. "Just take it one day at a time. We're all here to help when you need us."

"You guys have been a big help, don't get me wrong. I just can't wait to see our baby..." He trailed off uncomfortably, and Tom didn't know what to say after that, so he and Tim watched in silence as Louis moved on, stopping by John's tent on the way to see Alexander and Lisa.

Tom thought of Louis' evening walk as "making the rounds", though he doubted Louis thought of it that way -- in fact, he seemed not to realize he was doing anything of the sort, and would probably have blinked if anyone had mentioned it.

Tom smiled. Louis was such a good leader that he didn't even know he was leading. It was another human puzzle, like the not-voting voting and the funny feeling of warmth he got from the settlement; he resolved to ask Louis about it, but that night Louis asked him in for a glass of liquor, and somehow he forgot about it by morning.

---

Three weeks later, the baby was born. Tom spent the whole day pacing back and forth outside the house with his brothers and sisters; by the time Tim emerged, nearly the whole village had joined them.

"It's a boy," Tim said, smiling wearily. "He's a little small, but he's feeding well, and Joanne says he should be OK."

"Thank God," Tom said.

Tim grinned. "Thank God_ and_ the Lords of Kobol! Hey, you guys wanna see him? Kat told me I should get all his uncles and aunts in there."

Minutes later, the Cylons were crowded around Kat's pallet, watching in wonder as she nursed her little son.

"He's beautiful," Anastasia said. "Oh, Kat, he's a blessing. You're so lucky!"

Kat smiled tiredly. "Thanks."

"What'll you name him?" Tom asked.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kat said. "Tim and I have been talking, and if it's all right with you and your brothers, well... we'd like to name him Leoben."

Tom exchanged a glance with Joshua and Chris, not quite sure what he should say. Leoben was a leader touched by God, whose holy visions had led them to the Promised Land. If not for him, they would never have found Kara Thrace, and would never have come to Earth. And yet...

Suicide was a sin.

"We'd be honored," Tom finally said. "Thank you. It means a lot to us."

Kat smiled. "What do you think, little Leo? Do you like your name?"

Leoben just snuffled, and went back for more milk.

---

Six months later, Anastasia miscarried badly, bleeding upon the floor of the communal home. She lived, but Tom noticed that she started taking bitter tea off and on after that, and that some of her sisters followed her example. It was a sin, of course, but Tom remembered how Anastasia had screamed, as though God himself had reached down to wound her, and so he and the other Twos pretended not to notice.

---

Before Tom quite realized it, Leoben went from fitting neatly in both of Tom's hands to running around the village, yelling and playing with the other youngsters.

"Heh, look at him go," Louis said. "Looks like he's going to be a hunter when he grows up."

"He takes after Kat... woe unto us all!"

Louis laughed, watching as Leoben tackled one of his playmates, a girl named Helena. She wriggled out from beneath him and then kicked him hard, laughing as he rolled away.

"She's a little razor," Louis murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how amazing it is that we're still here... and now there'll be a whole new generation. Our race is going to thrive, Tom."

"Do you ever regret it?" Tom asked.

"What?"

"Not being a part of it. Not having..." Tom waved his hand at the children.

"No, I never have," Louis said simply. "I'm glad they're here, and I love them all, but it's just not for me. I've had a wonderful life on this planet, better than I ever deserved... that's more than enough."

Tom hummed thoughtfully.

"What about you?" Louis asked.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! I've seen the way Emily looks at you."

"Come on, she stares at _all _the Twos. Besides... you know Cylon can't."

"You can never be sure," Louis said, but his heart wasn't in it. Since Leoben was born, none of the Cylon pregnancies had made it to term, and no human woman had become pregnant with a Cylon partner. Kat and Tim were trying again, but to no avail.

Tom shrugged. "I'd rather have you, anyway." He smiled at Louis. "I'm glad you wouldn't let me take Felix's name, you know."

Louis smiled back, thoughtful and a little sad. "Me, too, Tom. Me, too."

---

Some years later, Tom went walking by the stream, in search of better tea. He wandered here and there in the warm sunlight, taking a few leaves from each plant he saw. He tasted them carefully, analysing their chemical content. Most he discarded as being sour or flavorless, but he put a few into his hide bag for further study. He tucked one plant's berries carefully into his left-hand pants pocket -- he'd show them around the village, warning the humans against poison.

He moved a little further, and found a tall plant whose leaves and flowers had a nutty sort of taste. He stood and munched on them for a while, then picked a generous handful to use for tea. Then he turned, noting the location: a bend in the stream where two thick trees grew together on the shore.

_If it makes good tea, I'll come back and get more_, he thought to himself, wandering back downstream. _Louis will be thrilled!_ The breeze ruffled his hair, which was getting a little long, and stirred up tiny waves on the surface of the water. They caught the light, shimmering this way and that.

He stopped for a while, sitting on a rock, staring at the surface of the water. Something about it was mesmerizing to him; he suddenly felt warm all over, as though he'd been dropped into a temperate sea.

_I'm sitting on the shore_, he thought slowly, _but a part of me is swimming in the stream. Look, there I am, right there..._

He'd never had such thoughts before. He watched the water, breathing slowly, letting it flow on by, carrying him away. It seemed to him that the stream was full of life; not just his own life, but the lives of all the people who had died on their journey, flowing together like melted wax. Birth from death, death from birth... it was as though each glint of sun on the water was made of innumerable people, humans and Cylons alike.

Tom grew very, very still, gazing deeper into the water. In it he saw life: twenty billion blades of grass, swaying in the fields. He saw a stone grave-mound on a hill, from which well-tended flowers grew. He saw a beaver further upstream, hard at work on a dam that looked a bit like a stack of pancakes. Above it, a stag dashed into the woods and disappeared, vanishing like smoke. There were hawks and eagles and falcons in the water, soaring like Raiders or Vipers; there were actual vipers, too, snakes that shed their skins again and again until they found what they were looking for.

Tom looked closer still. He saw an infant who might grow up to be a doctor, living in another settlement. He saw a huge, showy, stripy cat the same color as Aaron's favorite suit-jacket; he saw an oak sapling that stretched its tiny leaves to the sky as though it were proud of the perfect little chlorophyll-machine it had become. Then he saw a piebald fish, painted with irregular blobs and streaks of color, working its way slowly upstream. It jumped, shining in the sun, and gulped down a fly that had been sitting on the water.

When it splashed back down, Tom realized that it had _really_ been there; it was still swimming upstream, moving with lazy strokes of its tail. That was enough to break the illusion, leaving Tom gasping at its power.

_This whole world... this whole **Earth**. Everything we've ever lost is here. It's a part of us, a part of everything, like a great pattern that repeats itself again and again._

Tom stood for a while, watching the water. Finally, he shook his head.

_Louis is definitely going to like this tea._

---

As the years passed, Tom largely forgot about his vision, but he remembered it again when Louis told him he was ready to die.

"It's all right, Tom. I'm at peace with this. In two months, the berries will be ready, and then we'll do it."

"Are you sure? Maybe there's something we can do about the cancer. Maybe somebody can find Ishay..."

Louis shook his head. "No. I'm ready to go. I don't want to die slow, not like this. I never did. Besides, it wouldn't be good for the settlement."

Tom smiled at that. Louis, a leader to the last. He held out his hand, and Louis took it; they sat like that for a long time, saying nothing.

---

In the end, Louis died quietly, at home, with Tom and Brendan by his side. They both stayed with him, holding his hands, until the last of the light left his eyes.

They covered Louis gently with a blanket, and then Brendan stopped and turned away, swiping at his eyes with his hand.

"Aw, dammit, Louis..."

Tom didn't know what to say; he stood there for a time, his hand on Brendan's shoulder, then left to give him space in which to grieve. He went for a walk, hands deep in his pockets.

Louis hadn't told anyone else about his plans, but news spread fast in the village. By the time Tom walked to the stream and back, his brothers and sisters were waiting for him, standing by the edge of the water.

"Louis is gone," Kat said. "Our leader. What'll we do without him?"

"We'll be OK," Tom said. "He taught us well, didn't he?"

"He really did," Anastasia said. "He'll be missed."

Chris began the Prayer To The Cloud Of Unknowing. They stood together in a circle, nine of the last remaining Cylons on Earth, and prayed for a human as though he were one of their own. Tom spoke the words, willing his voice to remain steady, and bowed his head in grief.

When Tom looked up again, his brothers and sisters were watching him intently.

"What?"

Anastasia just smiled sadly. "Come on, Tom. Let's go home."

They walked along the stream to the village in silence, picking their way over the rocks. When they came to the clearing, Tom stopped short in surprise: it seemed as if the whole village was there, watching him, the way his siblings had a moment ago.

They were looking at him, all of them, the same way they'd always looked at Louis.

Brendan stepped forward. "Everybody wants a ceremony for Louis, but I'm not sure what he'd have wanted. I think we'd better leave things up to you, Tom."

"Me?" Tom said. "I'm not a leader."


End file.
